After our return to Sand Bay, the lads and I took a look around the local area and discovered a little town called Burnham-On-Sea, not too far from Weston. We decided to check it out. During the journey, I sweetened the lads up with a moderated distribution of Minty Thins, which I had received as a present. They were a damn good Thin, and the lads, being chocolate fiends, were helpless against them. When we arrived, I found that the boys have their standards, and those standards seem to require finding a Wetherspoon cafe, approximately every hour. Today, however, was a three-stop day at the Wetherspoon, apparently setting a new record for the boys. And, as someone who doesn't enjoy such places, it was a record-setter for me, too, but I made the most of it, taking in the overall Britishnicity of the people inside, and enjoying the lads' banter and general presence.

After the spoons, we went for a wander, and, somewhere along the way, we found ourselves attracted to another games arcade. This was a much smaller affair than the fabled Silver Slipper, but worth a look, all the same. And sure enough, it boasted all the necessary features: Sega Rally 1, a range of 2p slot machines, at least one out-of-order bowling-type game, and even the race horses, which have been a thing for us, ever since Burtbro was evicted from an arcade for kicking one of them, when it refused to issue his rightful winnings - all the way back in the early nineties. We all had a go, and Burtdad even won some tickets - not enough to use for anything, but still, a win's a win.

And then we saw it.
Air hockey.
Come to daddy.

"Rematch?", Burtbro confidently and foolishly suggested, as though he'd somehow have a chance of wiping out his past humiliations.
He knew the answer, but I said it with a look, just to make sure.

Burtbro was the first to face me. I cut him down like the imposter he was, providing him with a ridiculous score gap that could never be put down to luck. Burtdad came next, fancying he had a new technique that was going to put me out of business. Needless to say, the game was over before it began, but I humored both of them, allowing them to try their luck against the grand master of slidey puck hitty game.

After handing them both their asses, I developed an arrogant limp and used it to escort me from the premises, where I had shown up the challengers for a second time. But being good sports (not to mention needing to stay in my good books, because I still had some Minty Thins left), the lads conceded defeat and accepted that Czech Republic had dominated England throughout the entire two-day event, and left the arena rightfully smug.

By way of congratulations, I was shortly presented with an unexpected prize for my efforts, in the form of a Sega air hockey puck, which must have been legitimately purchased before the tournament, with the intention of being presented to the rightful chump champ. I was honored.

And that was what we did in Burnham.

The trophy.

The thins.